


Brave New Universes

by WayFish



Category: Fringe
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Depression, Homesickness, Insomnia, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayFish/pseuds/WayFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out, he didn't sleep so well in this universe either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a lazy editor. So apologies in advance for any egregious spelling errors, ridiculous typos, gaping plot holes, etcetera etcetera etcetera...

Lincoln leaned out over the balcony rail and looked hard at the skyline. The zeppelins. The sunset. The towers. God, the towers. He’d volunteered to be part of a crew that pulled bodies from the rubble. Came back home, unplugged his phone, and cried until Danzig came to peel him off the floor of his apartment three days later. He’d thought it would be cathartic seeing them again. But instead, every time he saw them it felt something more like anticlimax. Underwhelm-ment. Two fingers hooked in the collar of his shirt and pulled him back.

 

As it turned out he didn’t sleep all that well in this reality either. But maybe that was ok. Because he supposed that was how he’d ended up here. On this balcony. With the sun rising. With this man

 

“So let me get this straight. You emigrated to another universe to pursue the possibility of love?”

 

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “That’s an optimistic way to put it.”

 

“But it’s true.”

 

“But it didn’t exactly work out, did it?” Lincoln drained his glass. The air was cold and clear. There were crowds of people moving around on the street below. For a fraction of a second he considered dropping the emptied tumbler over the edge, but then thought better off it. He held out his glass for a refill instead. Nick shook his head and took the glass from his hands.

 

“You’re missing the point,” he said. “It’s the principle of the thing. And it’s remarkable.” And Nick pulled him close and kissed him softly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been novel at first. The whole “Brave New Universes” thing. He didn’t think of home for weeks. In fact, when the second round of earthquakes began he didn’t think of it as home at all. He said, “I just wish we knew what was happening on the other side. Then maybe we could...”

 

Olivia had smiled at him and it took a long minute to figure out why.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’d tried to kiss her only once. They’d been standing in the halo of a streetlight. It was just beginning to rain. And she’d looked up. And it felt right. But halfway there she’d put her hands on his shoulders and said, “Oh Lincoln.”

 

Olivia had been the one to secure his position with Fringe Division. She’d shown him the ropes. Not just at work but in this new world at large. She’d helped him find an apartment. They’d gone for drinks a few times after work. And she’d introduced him to some of her friends. “Don’t want you feelin all alone in your new world,” she’d said.

 

He’d offered to take her to dinner as a thank you. And that night, on that street, she’d cradled his face in her hands and given him this sad sympathetic smile. “Lincoln, there's a whole universe out there. And you’re a good guy. You’ll find someone.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He would give her this. Olivia was a professional. And a hell of a partner. Things didn’t get weird. She was nice as ever. But Lincoln questioned his ability to rise to the occasion.

 

A week after their not-date she brought him a cup of not-coffee. It was doctored just the way he’d learned he liked it. And as he drank it it hit him like a train.

 

He’d spent the next twenty minutes in men’s room, retching until he was totally hollow. After, he stumbled out of the stall, rinsed out his mouth and said to the wan scared face in the mirror, “You’ve finally done it. You’re floating away.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He only left his apartment to got to work or to gather supplies, supplies being: beer, frozen dinners, and frosted flakes. It was three am. He had a lot of extra time on his hands, what with the insomnia and all. So there he was, barely standing, in the cereal aisle of the Not-King Soopers (He refused to say Queens Supper. He just would. Not. Do. It.) when someone called out to him.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

His mouth curled into a snarl. He was locked and loaded and fully prepared to launch a stream of obscenities and insults at whoever. That was his default setting these days, boiling just beneath the surface. On the train. In the hallway of his apartment building. At work. For weeks he’d been begging, praying, that someone would give him an excuse to take a swing, to unload. But when Lincoln turned around there he was. “Nick...” Nick, the childhood friend that wasn’t really his. He smiled and it made his face hurt.

 

“I would ask how you are," Nick said gently. "But it looks like you’ve had... um, a day.”

 

Lincoln stared back dumbly.

 

“You know. The whole Rambo look?”

 

“Oh.” Lincoln flushed and looked down at his tattered, dirt covered uniform. He’d gotten home late, opened his refrigerator to find it empty except for a few condiments and had just walked back out again, not thinking. Nick was wearing faded teal scrubs and scuffed white keds. “Well Doc, between the two of us we could throw a costume party.”

 

Nick laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. “Yeah, I work at the hospital, down the block,” he said and took a tentative step forward. “But I was actually talking about this.” And he gingerly pushed Lincoln’s hair away from his forehead.

 

“Oh that. Yeah.” Yeah, the bleeding cut on his face from flying shrapnel. Or, it had been bleeding. Olivia had tried to haul him to the hospital to have it taken care of. And he'd curtly refused. Lincoln touched his fingers to his face they came away dusty with dried blood.

 

“You should get it looked at.

 

Lincoln thought maybe he was imagining it. “It’s fine,” he said. But Nick’s fingers lingered a little too long on his cheek.

 

“It’ll scar. It doesn’t have to, you know. Here we have-”

 

“Thanks Dr. Lane. But no thanks.” He swayed on his feet. A little  to the left and Nick’s eyes were gray like a stormy clouds. To the right and his eyes were pale blue like the sky just after . Lincoln watched them narrow with worry. And he realized that this was the first time, possibly in weeks, that he’d looked someone in the eye at all. “I just need to get home. I need to rest.”

It was his third day with no sleep.  

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t been able to face his woefully under furnished apartment after Olivia turned him down. So he’d gone to a bar instead. And there he met a girl, a short lith girl with choppy red hair and brown eyes and a job and a cat and a masters degree. And he’d taken that girl home. It was less terrible with her there. And it was hurried and messy and good. But she didn’t ask for his phone number and left before he woke up that morning

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Nick said, and drew back. A furious shade of pink crept into his cheeks. “I don’t know why I...”

 

“No, it’s ok. I just...”

 

Other than the girl with the red hair and the eyes and the job and the cat and the higher education there had been nothing since he came here. And he didn’t realize until just that moment how starved he felt. And not just for sex. But for contact. For hands on his skin. And Lincoln pulled Nick back, kissing him clumsily.

 

“...You suprised me.”

 

“Well then.” Nick smiled against his lips and dragged him inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By that time the shine has already faded. The honeymoon had unceremoniously ended. And he felt stupid for thinking that this would be any different.

 

Lincoln loved the job. He never ceased to be amazed by, well, everything. But there was a kind of emptiness to it. He questioned his loyalties to this place. This world. To the people he passed on the street. And what was worse, they loved him. People saw the fringe emblem on the chest of his jacket and they smiled. They waved. They gave him free six packs and delivered pad thai on the house and said, “No, thank you.”

 

And he couldn’t help it. He hated them for this. Their smiles and gratitude made him want to scream. It makes him miss his apartment and his music and his wardrobe and his car and his favorite pizza place and rainbows and coffee and he hated them. Hated these total strangers and this strange place, despite all it’s wonders because he had no other place to put it. And being angry was easier than being sad or lonely or fearing that maybe he’d made the wrong decision.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he was in college he met a girl named Grace.

 

He’d had to shout over the booming Scissor Sister track in the background. “Grace like Kelly?”

 

“Sure, whatever,” she’d shouted back.

 

He nodded. He said, “That’s cool.” She smiled, rolled her eyes, got her drink from the bartender and walked back to her friends. That was the first and last time he talked to her. That was it. That was the bulk of their interaction. And still, he went to that club every weekend for a semester and a half. He didn’t even like clubs. But he went with the hope that maybe just maybe he would see her again.

 

It had been five months or so since they closed the bridge. He still wasn’t sleeping regularly. And two or three nights a week he showered, put on a fresh t-shirt, and very slowly walked the four blocks to the market. He told himself that it wasn’t like that. He needed eggs and a new broom and sangria mix and seven cans of  dolphin, which in this universe were not going extinct and not that smart. All with the hope that maybe he would run into Nick. Hell, run into anyone. And not for the same reason he wanted to see Grace, all those years ago. But mostly because he wanted to talk to someone. Look someone in the eye and not feel panicked or angry or alone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he finally “ran into” Nick again it wasn’t exactly how he planned. Nick was above him. Lincoln only caught bits and pieces. He was on a gurney, bars of fluorescent lighting passing fast over his head. He tried to focus on Nick. Focus on his eyes. Blue. Gray. Blue. Gray

 

He said, “Has he been responsive? Talking? Anything?”

 

Olivia was off to his side. He could hear but not see her. Her voice was wrecked. “Some, I mean, kind of.” she said. “I don’t know. There’s so much blood.”

 

The last thing he could remember before the pain pulling him under is blinking up at Nick. And Nick smiling. And Nick’s broad palm, firm and reassuring on his chest. “We’ll get you taken care of,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They hadn’t had a single solid lead on the shapeshifters since closing the bridge. But then there it was. Just a blip on the wire. Astrid almost didn’t catch it. And it was then that he'd considered a whole new set of possibilities. An urge he’d never felt before. Ever. He thought of turning coat. The shapeshifters could be a means to an end. A key to Jones and the door that could lead out. Lead him back home.

 

The details were hazy. He’d rushed from the building. Olivia followed him to the parking lot. She’d kept saying calm down. Slow down. Even the fucking cars were different here. He wasn’t totally used to them. Olivia screaming. And then weightlessness. And then black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lincoln’s shirt ends up... somewhere else. Someplace between Nick’s balcony and Nick’s bedroom. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and pulls Lincoln between his knees. Sets to undoing Lincoln’s belt. And he doesn’t want him to stop. But he feels compelled to make himself clear “I... Look, I’m not saying no. But I’m not gay.”

 

Nick winced and laughed. “God, I haven’t heard someone say that since I was a kid.”

 

He could feel his ears turn hot. “Say what?”

 

“Gay. People, well people here anyway, we haven’t thought of things like that for a long time.” He couldn’t understand and it must have showed on his face. “Look. They, we just... It’s not about men and women one way or the other.” Nick splayed his fingers low across Lincoln’s stomach, running his nails through the fine dark trail of hair above the waist of his jeans. “It’s about who you want. And going after what you want.”

 

“So I told me.”

 

“What?” Nick laughed.

 

“Nothing.” Lincoln shook his head. “Well, when in Rome...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He would clearly remember their next meeting. A nurse was chaperoning him on a shuffle around the ward. He’d been in the hospital about a week. And he saw him at the end of the hallway, blond head, long legs, crouched down at the feet of an old woman in a wheelchair. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. But whatever it was, Nick threw his head back and laughed. Behind the chair was a girl. Maybe all of 23. She looked like a younger twin of the woman. She had a tired smile well beyond her age. The old woman had a bouquet of flowers in her lap. The old woman patted Nick’s cheek, smiling, and said something that was, he imagined, grateful. Nick stood. Shook the younger woman’s hand. And they went on their way toward check out.

 

Lincoln was content to just watch the exchange. It shook something loose in him and left a pleasant warmth in his chest. But then the nurse at his side called out, “Well good morning, Dr. Lane! Seeing Mrs. Winsome off, then?” She liked him. He could tell by the look on her face. And suddenly the warm feeling was gone.

 

Nick turned and looked straight at him. “Well well, Agent Lee,” he said, smiling and completely ignoring the nurse. “ Good to see you back on your feet.”

 

“Barely,” Lincoln said flatly. His throat suddenly felt tight. He shifted nervously and Nick’s eyebrows knit with worry.

 

“You know what nurse, why don’t you let me see Mr. Lee back to his room. I’d like to check in on a few things anyway.” He took Lincoln's elbow and lead him slowly on down the hall. He could hear the nurse hem and haw as they strolled away.

 

“So how are you really?” he said.

 

“Fine.”

 

Nick rolled his eye. “You think you’re the first person to lie to me about their condition? Try again.”

 

Lincoln smiled, maybe for the first time in weeks. “Fine. Everything hurts.” Walking hurt. Standing hurt. Lying down only hurt a little less. But it’s only partially from the accident. There was something more. A deep down familiar ache that had set into his joints and lodged in his chest.

 

“Well, I can up your pain meds.” said Nick. “But, I also want to suggest that you make an appointment with a psychologist. I can highly recommend one of my  colleagues. She-”

 

“A shrink? Really?”

 

Nick shrugged. “I think you’ve been through alot. And I want you to take care of yourself.”

 

“Its... I’ve been slow to adjust.” And suddenly they’re standing outside his room, awkwardly close. “But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

 

Nick doesn’t look convinced. “Well, anyway, I also wanted to say sorry about your hair. ”

 

Lincoln grimaced and ran his hand over his new patchy buzzed cut. He’d gone through the windshield of the car. Broke both legs. And some ribs. Shredded his face on the glass. Split his head wide open when he hit the pavement. And they’d had to shave it before going in to operate. If it had happened back home he would probably be a vegetable. No, that wasn’t true. Back home he had a DNR. So actually he would be dead. But instead here he was, already walking around, the lattice of scars on his face fading every day.

 

“It’ll grow back.”

 

“Still. I don’t even know why. But It killed me to see them sheer it all off.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Didn’t you know? I was your surgeon. Well, Dr, Jameson took care of your legs and um your face. But the neurological end, I’m a bit proud to say, was my doing.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Because of the surgeon thing Lincoln had expected that he would be gentle. But no. Nick is all teeth and dragging nails. Demanding. And curious. Mouthing places Lincoln has never considered. And turning him over and over and arranging and rearranging. Teasing and testing until Lincoln is right on the edge, then dragging him back

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a long recovery. He was in the hospital almost two whole months. And every day, for most of that time Nick dragged him out of his room for a walk around the hospital grounds. And not just circles through the halls. No, the hospital had a considerable garden. They become familiar with it quickly, finding the quiet corners and the benches that got the most sunlight or the best shade. When Nick worked nights they would look at the stars. Lincoln refused to visit the shrink he’d recommended. So Nick made him talk. About everything. Stupid things. At first anyway. They compared notes on sitcoms. Pop artists. Current events. It was like pop culture reconnaissance. And when Lincoln started to feel comfortable they moved on to other things. Childhoods. College. Sex. Lincoln told him about Olivia. About the FBI. About Danzig. About his depression.

"I kind of suspected," Nick said.

"You and everyone else. Olivia came by the other day. She said the division did a review. When I go back it's going to be probationary. They're not sure if I'm fit for duty."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Early on, during his tenure at the FBI, Danzig had pulled him aside to have a conversation about his diagnosis. Most of his life he’d felt a little bit other, different, apart from the rest of the world. And most of his life he’d been able to hide it behind a contrived smile. But his first year at Quantico it was made official by the bureau's shrink. And it was indelibly printed in his file. “Depressive Tendencies”  And it wasn’t that the it was bad all the time. It came more in waves. But once he was in the field it got harder to pass. It could make him irritable, unfocused, irrational. Not a good guy.

 

It was ironic, or maybe not, because the incident which prompted the talk from Danzig had also involved a car. They’d been chasing after a suspected trafficker. Guns and girls. And Danzig had gone after him on foot. But Lincoln had opted to abandon him. He knew the area pretty well. Took the car instead. Cut the guy off at an alley. Literally cut him off. The guy had come up over the windshield. Broken his back.

 

“You know you have a yearly psych eval, right?” Danzig had said, holding him by his shoulders. “If you don’t pass-”

 

“I know! You seriously think I don’t know that?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

On check out day Nick showed up looking shockingly civilian in jeans and a tshirt for a band that Lincoln had never heard of.

 

Lincoln had put on his bravest face. Because though the connection had felt nice he feared that it was manufactured. Bedside manner. And the friendship would be over the second he stepped foot outside the hospital. “Come to see me off?” he said lamely.

 

“Not exactly.”

 

Without another word he had shoved Lincoln into a wheelchair with his bag and rolled him out of the hospital. All the way to the parking lot. To his truck. To his truck which looked kind of but not quite like the 1969 Chevy Pick Up that Nick Lane Sir. had owned in Lincoln’s universe. As a kid he’d been kind of afraid of it. And afraid of the man as well, who would honk and yell if kids on bikes and skateboards got too close to the machine. But just then he was kind of awed. The truck had been restored in matte black and brilliant chrome. Nick opened the door and helped him inside. The interior was pristine. Probably custom. And he couldn’t keep himself from running his hands over it.

 

Nick threw his bag into the bed of the truck. There was an odd number of groceries back there as well. And he climbed into the driver’s seat with a sly grin spreading across his face.

 

“She’s gorgeous, right?” Nick scanned his show-me on the dash and the truck roared to life. “I restored it myself.”

 

“Of course you did. What kind of gas milage does it get?”

 

“She. Not it. And a lady never tells.”

 

"So you provide car service for all of your patients?"

 

"What do you think?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lincoln soon realized then that he had no idea what he’s doing. Nick is all angles. Strong arms. Broad shoulders. Hard and rough and intrinsically mysteriously male. Lincoln doesn't know what to do with his hands, isn't sure how to touch him. Though he wants to touch him everywhere.

 

Nick looks up from sucking a bruise on his hip. Says, “Don’t be nervous.”

 

“I’m not,” Lincoln says. It comes out gasped, almost a whine.

 

“Really?” Nick comes up to lay beside him, threads his fingers in Lincoln’s hair. It’s only just grown back enough that Nick can give it a little tug and kiss his throat. “You’re shaking,” he says, and Lincoln more feels than sees the cheshire grin spreading across his face.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Nick drove him back to his apartment. He carried Lincoln’s duffel bag and the groceries. And he let Lincoln hold onto his elbow in the hallway ‘cause he still felt kind of unsteady. He sat on his sofa feeling useless and watched Nick put food in his cupboards and throw his clothes in the wash. His apartment was cleaner than when he’d left it. He wondered who was responsible for this, Nick or Olivia. And finally Nick dropped down beside him, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and proffering a beer.

 

“So,” he said. “There’s a game on, and I don’t know how you feel about soccer. I mean, you have soccer on your side, right? So I thought we could-”

 

Lincoln wasn’t quite used to the beer in this universe. He didn’t know if he ever would be. But he took a sip anyway. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Keep pretending. Because you feel bad for me or whatever.”  

 

“I’ll only feel bad for you if you tell me you don’t have soccer.”

 

“You know that’s not what I mean. And you don’t have to be my friend out of  pity or-”

 

“Yeah. You’re absolutely right,” Nick said flatly. “And I’ll stop right now if you don’t quit acting like a dick.”

 

Lincoln blinked at him hard like he’d been smacked in the face.

 

“Now,” he continued. “In soccer there are two teams and each team has-”

 

“I know what soccer is.”

 

“Good. There’s hope for you yet.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You shut up.”

 

“Nick, I...” Lincoln braced himself. Took another long draw from his beer. “I’m sorry. Thanks for giving me a ride.”

 

“Don’t mention it. That’s what friends are for.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Olivia picked him up on his first day back to work. And it was only supposed to be the one time. But it became habit. Picking him up for work. Taking him home in the evening. And she started looking at him like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. And he could tell it was more for her piece of mind than for him. So Lincoln played grateful and went along. She was with a new guy. Someone who worked in another department. But she started touching his shoulders. Stood a little closer to him on the street.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lincoln and Nick started developing habits as well.

 

Nick put on his doctor voice and told him that physical activity was good for his rehabilitation.

 

“Are you saying I’m out of shape?” Lincoln had snapped. “I passed the physical to go back-”

 

“No. I’m saying you spend too much time in your freaking apartment. Now get dressed”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Danzig had staged a similar intervention. Well, interventions. With medications off the table, he'd tried to sell Lincoln on a number of fixes. Eastern philosophies. Meditation. Mind body manifestation. Guided breath. A lot of books he never read. It took a long time for Lincoln to understand why Danzig had showed such concern for him. He could have let Lincoln run himself into the ground and been assigned another partner. But instead he’d worked for months to help him put his head together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After some convincing they took the train downtown, instead of Nick’s truck. He said something about people giving him “dirty looks”. But Lincoln doesn’t understand until they’re strolling across the green and saw people rolling out yoga mats.

 

Nick produced two mats from his backpack. “I know it’s new,” he says. “So don’t push it. Just do what you can.”

 

Lincoln could have hugged him. But instead he scoffed and took a mat and staked out a space on the grass. Of all the fixes that Danzig had tried to push on him only yoga had stuck. He’d used to go to classes three times a week plus 30 minutes or so every morning before work. It was just one more thing he hadn’t brought with him to this universe. Hell, he didn’t even know there was yoga in this universe.

 

There were maybe 20 people there in total. College kids. Grandmothers. Young professional looking types. Now that things had calmed down things seemed to be coming back together. People were coming back together. Little communities like this were forming all over the city. The instructor, a tall roundish woman, took her place at the head of the group. The thing was, He’d never been able to get behind the whole clear your mind, manifest world peace, sit still and breathe from your diaphragm thing. He didn't see how any of that could help with his depression or anxiety. But narrowing his focus to just his breathing and just his body, he could do that. More importantly it made him feel strong. In control of not just his body but his situation. That felt good. And the postures came back easily. Breath. Move. Breath. He could feel his chest opening up. Breath. His shoulders loosening. Breath. And he could feel Nick’s eyes on him.  

 

* * *

 

 

Nick presses two fingers to his bottom lip. And Lincoln feels brave and tongues his finger tips. Sucks them into his mouth. Half laughs, half hums around them because he’s not that guy. Not really all that brave. He's sure his face looks ridiculous. But still, Nick's eye's turn dark and stormy. Ridiculous or not it means permission and yes and please. Wet fingers trail down his chest, between his thighs. Nick gives him a bruising kiss and Lincoln he thinks he might forget how to breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

One night, after closing a case late, she stood next to him on the ferry back from HQ and said, “You know, we never really talked about what happened. Maybe we could grab some dinner?” He politely turns her down because he already had plans. He says, apologetically that he has previous engagement. This is the third time she’s asked. The third time he’s turned her down. And as her face falls he wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. To  be spiteful. He doesn’t think so. Well, maybe the first time. But not now. Now he really just wants to be with someone else.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They go to yoga in the park every Saturday.

 

Nick starts out clumsy. And easily frustrated. After that first day he lets out a groan and collapses on the grass.

 

“You know,” Lincoln said. “If it’s new you shouldn’t push it. Just do what you can.”

 

Nick laughed and gave Lincoln a half hearted shove. "Oh shut it. Shouldn't you be thanking me?"

 

“Yes. This was a great idea.”

 

“No, I mean... I wish you could see your face right now. You don’t look mopey for the first time in... Well, since I met you.”

 

Lincoln shoved him back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Instead of going out with Olivia he goes to see the Turkey National Football Team vs. Hungary on a too small tv screen in a bar. It’s crowded with other fans, all of them flying team colors. “It’s the closest we can get to actual soccer, in New York,” Nick had said. He introduced Lincoln to some of his friends.They ate and drank and yelled and swore. During the halftime, when Nick was sufficiently drunk and his friends had gone for another round Nick pulled him aside.

 

“You know, I was thinking about what you said. You know, when you got out of the hospital”

 

“Oh?” It’s hard to hear him over the chatter of the crowd. And he couldn’t remember having ever seen Nick that way. He was actually genuinely nervous, a drawn look on his face, as he stared at his hands. Nick didn’t speak again until he’d drained the last of his drink.

 

“I just, I wanted you to know... Look, when I met you I’d just ended things with someone that I was really in love with. Or, I mean, I thought... Anyway, look, my point is that I kind of needed a friend too. I just wanted you to know that.”

 

“I...”

 

“No.” Nick held up his hands to stop him. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. It’s too embarrassing. I just wanted you to know.”

 

Turkey trounced Hungary and the bar erupted. Before he knew what was happening Nick whooped and cheered and pulled Lincoln into a hug. He smelled like liquor and wood smoke and cold sweat and tobacco heavy cologne. And the completely innocent touch had lingered. Just a little. Just enough that he had to question it. Just like before.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The celebrating went on well into morning. Rounds and rounds were bought. The last time he remembered drinking so much was maybe college. He lost Nick in the crowd while a group of girls tried to teach him Turkey’s national anthem. Then he remembered that he still had work in just a few hours and went to find Nick because he was Lincoln’s ride.

 

* * *

 

For reasons beyond him Lincoln remembers his first time, half bumbling-half fucking on the sofa in Amy Todd’s basement. Amy Todd who lived three houses down from the Nick Lane of his universe.

 

* * *

 

Nick wasn’t at the bar. Or in the dirty bathroom. Or at the table his friends had staked out. Everyone says that they just thought his was with Lincoln. And they wink and waggle their eyebrows and maybe it’s because he’s too drunk. But lincoln doesn’t get it and assumes that maybe Nick just went home. So he elbows through the back of the bar to the exit. Out in the alley the air is cool on his cheeks. And there he found Nick, arching off the bars brick wall, fingers threaded in the messy dark hair of some man on his knees at Nick’s feet.

 

* * *

 

In his universe Amy Todd had three kids, a husband named Chris, and taught algebra to middle school students. Lincoln wondered what the Amy Todd in this universe was like.

 

* * *

 

After that night, after the soccer game, and the consequential hang over, and walking in or maybe out, he wasn’t sure, on Nick with the man in the alley; Lincoln stopped taking his calls. He went to work. He went to the grocery store at a normal hour. He did yoga at home and watched actual football on his own TV. And he deleted all of Nick’s text messages without reading them.

Three weeks later there was a knock on his door and Nick shouldered inside without invitation. He had an already open bottle of something in a brown paper bag. He knew where everything in Lincoln’s kitchen was. So he wordlessly got them glasses and ice and poured.

 

* * *

 

He’s not sure why he was thinking of Amy Todd but he hides his face in the crook of his elbow, as if Nick could see it. He remembers the terrifying realization that is new sensation, thinking he knew everything and then coming to learn that there is so much more. And he remembers not feeling totally in control of his body. He thinks perhaps it’s because that’s how he feels now. Nick’s mouth on him. Fingers on him. Fingers in him. It’s too much. He’s not sure which way to go. And Lincoln’s lets out a ragged cry that he doesn’t immediately recognize as his own.

“God damn,” Lincoln sighs. And Nick laughs against the inside of his thigh and backs down just a little, fingers teasing him apart, saying come hither against just the right spot, oh my god, yes right there right there.

 

* * *

 

“Her name was Coline,” said Nick. “She taught art history at the university. She used to joke about me screwing hot nurses at the hospital. And in a macabre and cliche twist of irony she cheated on me with one of her students. We were together seven years. I helped pay off her fucking student loans and after seven years she left me for someone barely legal to drink. And yeah, I was angry and fucking lonely, so yeah, the guy from the bar. But I shouldn’t have to justify that you,” he snapped. “Because you’re supposed to be my friend and answer my fucking phone calls.”

 

* * *

 

“Don’t you dare.” Nick smooths a hand over his thigh pressing him down, pressing a kiss to his stomach. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he say. “Just a little more,” he says and crooks the angle and Lincoln sees sparks.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” said Lincoln.

Nick shoved the half full water glass of jack at him and Lincoln took it reluctantly.

“Really, I’m sorry-”

“Is it because of the guy?” Nick’s eyes were earnest and bloodshot. “I mean, you just froze me out and I don’t understand and-”

“What do you want me to say!”

“Nothing.” He clinked his glass to Lincoln’s, sloping his drink across the floor. “I’m not angry anymore. I’m so tired of being angry,” he said and collapsed on Lincoln’s sofa. After a dazed moment Lincoln followed. They sat close but not too close. Nick picked up the remote and fiddled with the channels and Lincoln watched his face for a long quiet moment.

“So we’re ok? Just like that?”

Nick sighed. “Don’t let me drink to much, ok? I have surgery in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

Nick’s chest is searing against the cold sweat on his back. He coaxes Lincoln up onto his knees and nudges his thighs apart. And and at the first press of Nick’s cock Lincoln wants to call it off. He feels impossible in every way. But Nick wraps his arms tight around Lincoln’s chest and kissed his neck and the shell of his ear.

“Maybe you should fuck me first, instead,” he offers.

Lincoln can’t keep from laughing and shakes his head.

“Just relax,” he whispers

And he tries. And this time he wants it and it’s perfect. And Nick whispers, “fuck,” in Lincoln's ear, "fuck you feel beautiful", as he presses inside him. And his breath comes hot through Lincoln's hair.

 

* * *

 

Olivia insisted. She said, “We’re partners. And still, somehow, I feel like I never see you. So get some dinner with me.”  

And it doesn’t seem right to keep turning her down. “Ok, yeah. Sure, why not.”

 

* * *

 

He was never very good at having friends, let alone keeping them. So he’d been surprised by how easily he fell back into step with Nick. They didn’t talk about it much, not until they were more sober anyway.

“You really don’t care..?”

“No.”

“You weren’t, like, jealous or something, were you. Because if-”

“No, god no.”

Nick scoffed. “Well you don’t have to be so... adamant about it.”

And they laughed. And that was the end of it.

 

* * *

 

Lincoln and Olivia went to her place instead of a restaurant because work had gone late the day had left them both a little worse for wear. They sat at opposite ends of her sofa with take out in their laps. And they talked easily for hours, mostly about work. She was funny and good company and had a lot of stories. And he’d been so busy shoveling fried rice into his mouth and talking excitedly about some surgical trial that Nick was involved in. So he didn’t see the way she looked at him. And he didn’t see her leaning in to kiss him

It had hurt so much when she did it to him. But still, Lincoln pulled back before she could manage it.

“I think I should go,” he said.

 

* * *

 

It was cold and it was late when he stepped out onto the street. Or early, depending on  how you looked at it. Snow was starting to fall and there wasn’t a cab in sight. So Lincoln pulled his coat tight around him and walked mostly to keep warm. Some of the houses he passed were lit up with Christmas lights and had trees framed in their windows. He kept checking his phone. He didn’t know if he should call and apologize. Or if he even had anything to apologize for. He didn't think he would be getting any sleep that night anyway. So he called Nick instead.

He answered on the first ring.

“I just really fucked up,” said Lincoln

“Like, you need a drink ‘fucked up’ or you need bail money ‘fucked up’.”

“The former.”

“Then come over.”

“Are you sure?”

“My sleep schedules a mess from working nights and I’ve got a bottle of cheap vodka with your name on it.”

 

* * *

 

“Please.”

Nick held him close, fingers digging deliciously into his thighs, taking him much too slow.

“Please,” Lincoln whines. Actually whines. And he hates himself for it just a little.

“No,” Nick hooks his chin on Lincoln’s shoulder. “Not yet. Want it to last.”

“I don’t care. Just... more.” And he’s not even sure what he’s asking for. He just wants.

Nick let out a low growl and he rocks forward, burying so deep it takes Lincoln’s breath away.

It doesn’t last. Soon Lincoln was spilling over his fist. And Nick comes tumbling after, letting out a low moan and raking his nails down Lincoln’s ribs.

 

* * *

 

The size of Nick’s apartment suggested money. But the way it was put together did not. None of his glasses matched. He had a lot of  bookshelves but no dining table. There was no art on the walls. But lots of photos of his family. Of friends. Nick poured their drinks And Lincoln noticed that a picture of him had been added to the mix. He remembered when it was taken, outside a concert venue, the two of them leaning against a brick wall in the sun. Hendrix was alive and well in this universe. And in the photo Lincoln was holding up his ticket stub with a stupid excited look and big sunglasses on his face.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think I’m bitter,” he asked.

Nick thought about it for a long time. “Only you can know that,” he said finally. “But I guess, what I don’t get is that you two were never together. I mean, it’s not like your relationship ended. Your feelings just weren’t reciprocal.”

“But it was more than that. Kind of.”

“More how?”

“You can’t laugh.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

 

* * *

 

Nick licked his fingers clean and kissed him everywhere. “Are you ok?”

“That’s a silly question, Doctor.” Lincoln rolled on top of him, straddling Nick’s chest. Maybe he was brave. Maybe he was that guy after all. It seemed a great effort to push himself upright. “Do I really get to fuck you next time?”

“You’re sure there’s going to be a next time? This was all kind of... sudden.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“When have I ever said no to you?”

He tried to think of an instance, a moment. But really, it had been nothing but yes since he met Nick "So, how long, hm?"

"Oh, from the first moment I saw you."

* * *

 

The sun was coming up. So they’d ventured out onto the balcony.

“I came here for her,” Lincoln confessed. But it didn’t make him feel any better. “I came here because I thought we had something. And if the gate closed and I didn’t go after that something I was sure I would regret it forever. But then she said no. And I felt so naive and stupid and trapped...” And if anything he felt worse, felt months old rage pooling up in his gut. Lincoln leaned out over the balcony rail and looked hard at the skyline. “And now, here I am. I can’t go back. So why should she get to?”

Two fingers hooked in the collar of his shirt and pulled him back. “So let me get this straight. You emigrated to another universe to pursue the possibility of love?”

Lincoln rolled his eyes. “That’s an optimistic way to put it.”

“But it’s true.”

“But it didn’t exactly work out, did it?”

“You’re missing the point,” he said. “It’s the principle of the thing. And it’s remarkable.” And Nick pulled him close and kissed him softly. 


End file.
